


Think You Under the Table

by bienenalster (pinkspider), Pax



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Alcohol, Bureaucracy, Gen, Podfic, Podfic & Podficced Works, Podfic Length: 30-45 Minutes, Pub Crawl, Thoughts on Leadership, Truly Unnecessary Numbers of Meetings, e094-e095 Timeskip (Critical Role)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-22
Updated: 2017-08-22
Packaged: 2018-12-04 12:40:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11555400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinkspider/pseuds/bienenalster, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pax/pseuds/Pax
Summary: "Pub crawl?" Keyleth said."Pub crawl," Percy agreed.





	Think You Under the Table

 

 

[Click to download.](http://pod-together.parakaproductions.com/2017/Critical%20Role%20-%20Think%20You%20Under%20the%20Table.mp3)

* * *

 

 

On Monday morning, Lady Cassandra Johanna von Musel Klossowski de Rolo stopped, one foot on the running board of her carriage, and frowned.

“Are you certain you’ll be fine without me, brother? You know, I don’t really have to go. Lady Vex’ahlia will do splendidly - ” here Cassandra paused, frowning. “Well, Lady Vex’ahlia can handle the meeting without major -” Lady Cassandra bit her lip - “Lady Vex’ahlia could do an adequate job on her own. Probably. She might not start a war.”

“I heard that!” Vex said in a sing-song tone, floating above the assorted merchants, bureaucrats, nobles, and various hangers-on that made up the assembled retinue of retainers for Whitestone’s first major diplomatic envoy to Syngorn.

Percy patted the side of one of the carriage horses, grinning. “You won’t stop fretting if you go, and you won’t stop worrying if you stay, Cassandra. At least diplomats in Syngorn will be a new and exciting source of worry.”

“It’s not the diplomats I’m worried about,” Cassandra said dryly. “You do realize that you’re going to be on your own for a week? No running about, no adventures, just honest work.”

“Well, let’s not get carried away, Cassandra,” Percy said. “I will still be dealing with the council.”

Cassandra gave him an exasperated smile, then a kiss on the cheek. “Just try to keep things running until I get back, all right?”

“The work of securing Whitestone’s legacy will be safe for a week in my hands,” Percy said, helping her into the carriage and closing the door behind her. “After all, how hard could it be?”

As the procession set off down the road, Percy heard Vex’s cackle in his ear until her broom faded from view.

\--

On Monday, Percy spent his morning receiving petitioners in the Great Hall with the rest of the assembled council. He assigned misbegotten lambs as compensation for a broken fence; he was overruled in advocating for funding the Drovers’ Guild’s petition to re-dredge the canals; he listened to the details of a land dispute that seemed to involve six families, seven generations, and no documentation whatsoever beyond a handshake sealed with spit.

“Was a scribe unavailable?” Percy asked, with excruciating politeness.

The farmer who headed up the family making the petition blinked slowly. “What kind of a world would it be if we couldn’t trust spit?”

“Quite,” Percy said, only to be rescued by the petitioners’ bell, signalling the end of open court.

Luncheon was with the Drovers’ Guild, who apparently really wanted the canals dredged. He promised them he’d take a look at their plans to see if cost reductions were possible, only to be called away to review the Riflemen’s work with the automated munitions system. They were doing much better, but the device still needed work before it would be able to create bullets of a high enough quality to withstand the enchanting process. Monday evening he was able to squeeze in a few hours tinkering with Taryon in his little workshop in Vex’s house; Percy kept looking over in the corner for blue feathers, and missing them. He collapsed into bed at the end of the day, congratulating himself on a job well done, only to remember that he still hadn’t taken a look at the Drovers’ Guild plans.

“Oh well,” Percy thought. “Tomorrow, then.”

Tomorrow, however, was the standing meeting for the working group for the spinning orb of death, then Riflemen’s drill practice, and then another luncheon, this time with a merchant’s group furious that he was planning to tear up their streets for the new heating system. In the afternoon, he sat down to work out how to tear up the streets even more, out of spite, but the castellan fetched him with an “ahem” regarding some irregularities in the account books for the castle stores, and then, quite suddenly, it was midnight, and they still hadn’t found where the blasted money went.

Wednesday was more petitioner’s court, the grand re-opening of some dressmaker’s studio that had apparently been in business since the Sun Tree was planted, another luncheon, more time with the account books, an evening reception for Young Ladies of Quality, and then MORE bloody account books. It was starting to seem like the money had gone out by way of the liquor cabinet, which meant firing someone. Percy hated firing people, he hated petitioner’s court, and he was not inclined to think kindly of Young Ladies of Quality at this point either.

Thursday was more account books, a spinning orb of death working group report that he didn’t have time to read before a luncheon with who cares, a briefly exciting explosion in the Riflemen’s quarters that he was not allowed to leave the luncheon to investigate, a few blissful hours with Tary troubleshooting Doty 2.0’s joint structure, which was not responding well to the previous version’s enchantments, followed by still more account books, culminating in a hesitant “begging your pardon, sirs” from the chambermaid who brought up the tea, who pointed out a note that had been left in the wine cellars and tidied away Monday night as a bit of scrap paper, reading, in Lady Vex’ahlia’s looping script, “Bunged a few shelves of wine as a diplomatic present for Syngorn from Whitestone, and a bottle of Courage for me, as a reward for dealing with Father. Kisses!” and signed with a winking Trinket.

The realization, after the castellan had gone to bed, that it had been the last bottle of Courage that Vex had taken, had done nothing to improve Percy’s mood.

Friday the representative from the Merchant’s Guild was the first through the door at petitioner’s court with an itemized list of damages the shopkeepers would face from the loss of business while the street was torn up, the loss of inventory from the surely inevitable floods that would ensue from this hair-brained scheme, and loss of civic pride from being from a city foolish enough to add more water to its streets, and Percy snapped.

“Well, that went well,” Keeper Yennen said mildly, as the Merchants’ Guild representative stormed off.

“He deserved it,” Percy spat, full of the bad humor that comes from having lost one’s temper and from knowing that one shouldn’t have.

“Excuse me,” said the next petitioner. “Only I’m from the Drover’s Guild, Lord Percival, and we were wondering if you’d had a chance to take a look at our plans for the canal yet.”

Which is to say, it was something of a relief to see Cassandra sweeping into her office Saturday morning, laughing and pink-cheeked and precisely on time, as Percy bent over the plans for the canal on her desk.

“Oh, thank goodness,” Percy said, checking quickly to make sure none of the servants were about. “Cassandra, you are never allowed to leave again, I cannot do this, it’s enough bureaucracy to kill a full-grown man. I will be in my workshop until further notice.

 

“But you have the meeting with the Council and Headmaster Keyleth regarding the signalling stone protocols this afternoon, don’t you recall?” Cassandra said, frowning. “You said you wanted to handle it personally.”

Percy let out a long, low groan. Legacy, he thought, was not all it was cracked up to be.

\--

Keyleth was so, so, so tired of public speaking. She had spent the last month speaking, in public, on four planes and at least seventeen continents. Okay, two. The point is, it felt like seventeen. There could not possibly be any more public for her to speak in where she hadn’t already spoken, and now she had to speak in Whitestone, which shouldn’t be public but felt like it when she was faced with the whole council, minus almost all of Vox Machina, plus some remarkably pissed-off merchants. Retreating to Percy and Cassandra’s cluttered office felt like the first time she’d been out of public in years.

“That. Meeting.Lasted. For Hours. Why is the leader of the Merchant’s Guild so angry?” Keyleth whined, her voice muffled by the stack of paperwork she was currently using as a pillow. “I thought he was going to murder us with his eyes! Who objects that strongly to alarm systems?”

“Ah,” Percival said. “Some people just don’t understand progress.”

“Well, we need their approval for the secondary warning systems in major shops, and I just don’t see how he’s going to agree.”

“Percival,” Taryon’s voice came from somewhere near the doorway to the office, “have you happened to see my bottles of Brown Ale Bitters anywhere? I had them moved into the storerooms at Whitestone because Vex’ahlia wanted to have the kitchen shelves redone after the incident with the Gunpowder Popovers, but I can’t find them anywhere now.”

“Why do you need it?” Percival asked.

“Well, it’s a key ingredient in the Whitestoned Wheat Crackers. The bitters make the crackers just a touch more crispy. They hardly bend at all now!”

Keyleth dragged her head up from her paperwork pillow to see Percy raising one eyebrow. “Yes, I can see how crackers that crack would be a great improvement,” he said.

“Anyway, they were on the shelf with the Courage, but they seem to be gone now.”

“Ah. I believe your bitters may have been… appropriated for diplomatic use,” Percy said euphemistically.

“Huh?” Keyleth said.

“Oh,” Taryon said. “Vex swiped them.”

“Yes,” Percy sighed.

“Drat!” Taryon said. “I was hoping to fill that order for the Merchant’s Guild banquet this week, but -”

“Well, can’t you get more?” Percy asked reasonably. “For - ah - various reasons, it would be advantageous if we could ensure that the Merchants’ Guild is as pleased as possible.”

“No; I picked them up in Ank'Harel, just before I met you lot. I would ask Antlers for a ride to go get more, but I have an experiment going with Doty 2.0, and I have to take readings every two hours.”

Keyleth sat up so quickly she fell back in her chair. “WE CAN GO!!!” she said, struggling to her feet. No more meetings, or public! “WE CAN GO!”

Tary looked confused. “It’s really not a big deal; the crackers are still fine without the bitters, just not quite as crunchy.”

“No no no,” Percy said, a gleam coming into his eyes. “We cannot serve the fine men and women of the Merchants’ Guild substandard crackers. We will simply have to go to Marquet and retrieve some for you. Keyleth, can you go now?”

“Absolutely!” Keyleth said, stuffing her things into a satchel and grabbing the Spire. “We can go through the Sun Tree and be back later tonight. Come on!” Keyleth ran out the door, skidding slightly as she turned the corner at the end of the hall.

“Be assured, Taryon, we will not return until we have your Brown Ale Bitters,” Percy said, grabbing his ammo belt and Animus from the desk and spinning the chambers to check it. “We shall not fail you.” He hurtled out the door after Keyleth.

“Wait!” Tary cried out down the halls. “Don’t you even want to know where I bought it?”

\--

Percy and Keyleth emerged from the customary tree on the outskirts of the Suncut Bazaar into a warm Ank'Harel evening. Glittering lights had been strung above the market stalls, and people strolled among the shops and bars in pairs and larger groups, chatting and laughing with ease. At a stall with a green-and-yellow striped awning, a small, wrinkled old man sat smoking a hookah, and blowing elaborate smoke rings.

Percy paused. “We never asked Taryon where he bought the bitters, did we?” he said.

“Nnnope,” Keyleth replied with relish. “Come on, Percy! Pub crawl! Like old times! We can stay up to see the sun rise! We never stay up to see the sun rise.”

“Alright, then,” Percy said. He flipped a coin at a vendor selling elaborately drizzled sugar dragons, and received two. He handed one to Keyleth, who clapped her hands in delight before taking it. “But we should try to be a little bit systematic about it. We met Taryon outside the Debt’s Respite; let’s start there.”

“Fine,” Keyleth said around a mouthful of sugar dragon. “But we’re not staying there. Pub crawl!”

“Pub crawl,” Percy agreed.

When they entered the Debt’s Respite, Percy and Keyleth were surprised to find that there was, if not a crowd, at least some people inside who didn’t look like Scarbearers. There were a few of those, playing darts in one corner, but there were also a number of groups of people just sitting, laughing, and drinking. They seem to have added a large portrait of a medusa’s head on one wall since last they came. Treev Bonebreaker, the dragonborn Scarbearer, was behind the bar, serving up and down the line and pulling pints as fast as he could. Keyleth and Percy grabbed stools at the bar; Treev nodded at them, and kept working.

Once the crowd had died down a bit, Treev wandered down to their end of the bar.

“I see you’re taking advantage of the fulfillment of our deal. What can I get you?”

“We’re looking for something called Brown Ale Bitters,” Percy explained.

“Brown Ale Bitters? This drink, I do not know.”

Keyleth wrinkled her nose. “Well, I guess that would have been too easy. Guess we’ll just have to keep trying!”

Treev chuckled at her. “Going so soon?” He seemed considerably friendlier now that he no longer suspected them of killing a Scarbearer. “I just got a new cask in from one of my suppliers who deals with Wildmont; he called it “vodja.” Apparently they’re nuts for the stuff up there.” He pulled a small bottle up from beneath the bar. “Haven’t tasted it yet. I’m looking for testers. Want a try?”

“Certainly,” Percy said.

“Four gold each,” Treev said briskly.

“Done!” Keyleth said, and plunked the money down on the bar. Percy winced for a moment, but accepted his glass from the three Treev placed in front of himself, Percy, and Keyleth.

“Alright,” Treev said. “To me not having to kill you anymore.”

“Cheers,” Percy said.

“Cheers!” Keyleth said, and they all drank.

\--

“Man, that was some good vodja,” Keyleth slurred, stumbling into the next tavern. “Not as good as that stuff Grog bought here, but still. Pretty good! It’s super effective!”

“Yes, dear,” Percy said absentmindedly, propping her up in a chair. This tavern was considerably nicer than the Debt’s Respite; he hoped it would be more Taryon’s venue. High, coffered ceilings floated over elaborately carved white pillars trimmed in gilt; patrons sat in various nooks on squashy green divans and high-backed, plush chairs. No sooner had they sat down than a serving boy glided over noiselessly.

“Welcome to the White Swallow. How may I help you today?”

“We are on a quest, my good sir, for a particular specimen of your finest wares, Percy said. “I believe it is known as Brown Ale Bitters? One of my colleagues requires it.”

“I’m afraid we do not stock the beverage in question,” the waiter replied. “However, we do have some wonderful whiskeys laid down from Tal’Dorei before their recent troubles, if sir and madam would care to partake?”

“Madam most certainly would!” Keyleth said. “Bring us something expensive!”

“But of course,” the waiter said, showing many, many teeth as he smiled.

\--

“Look, it would have been about three or four months ago that you sold it - a plain, brown bottle, sold to a blonde, immaculately coiffed young man in an extremely shiny outfit.”

The bartender scratched the back of his neck contemplatively. “The one studded all over with gems like raisins in a puddin’?”

Percival banged his hand on the table in excitement. “That’s the gentleman. We would like to buy two -”

“Five!” Keyleth chirped.

“- Five bottles of whatever libation he purchased.”

“He did not buy drinks, only mercenaries. Because he was foolish, he bought bad mercenaries, and overpaid.”

“Ooooohhhhhh!” Keyleth said. “They’re the ones who died!”

“No, they ran off.”

“Died!”

“No, he said they died, and then later, he admitted they ran off.”

“Unless you are buying drinks or mercenaries, please leave.”

“Drinks!”

“We’re our own mercenaries!”

\--

“We are seeking a particular brand of bitters, because our baker brandished blondies and bade us bring him some. These bitters are particularly beloved because they make a better cracker batter.”

“Is this better cracker bitter?”

“No, not a bit. A bit of bitters in the batter makes the cracker batter better, but the better crispy cracker isn’t the least bit bitter.”

“The bits of cracker bite my buuuuttt. Can we have beer now?”

“In a bit.”

\--

“Keyleth! Do not talk to the lizards!”

“But it’s really simple! All I have to do is -”

“Oi! You! Haven’t I warned you about this before?”

“Keyleth! Time to go!”

“My fruity drink!”

\--

This bar was - a bar? Percy supposed it was a bar. There was a big - overhand, no. Overhang. Thingie. And tables! Lots of outside tables, with people. And hookah.

Percy liked the hookah. They had one that tasted like Vex, almost.

He missed Vex.

“I know, buddy.”

“That stupid Grey Render baby.”

“I know.”

“I do, you know. I would. Til and after and always. I don’t deserve her, and she doesn’t deserve having to deal with me, but I would.”

“I know.”

\--

“Brown Ale Bitters, you say?”

“Yes!” Keyleth said, mouth goggling open. “Have you heard of it? Only we really, really need to find some, and we’ve been to every bar. So many bars.”

“I can tell, honey,” the barmaid said sympathetically. Percy moaned, his head down on the bar. “Who the hell sold you Brown Ale Bitters?”

“No one sold it to us, but we need it for a friend! He has the best better cracker bitter.” She paused. “No, the cracker bitter best. No. I can get this, I promise. The best cracker batter! Thasit. Only he needs the bitters. He had a bottle, but one of our other friends stole it for diplomacy. And we need to get it for him because he’s busy with his robut.”

“Sweetie, we sell Brown Ale Bitters, but only to people we really don’t like. It’s just bitters made with spent grain from our beer; it tastes like shit. We make it as a prank. Your friend must have really worked someone’s last nerve for them to sell him a whole bottle.”

Percy looked at Keyleth. Keyleth looked at Percy.

They burst out laughing. They kept laughing for a long time, until the barmaid looked vaguely alarmed, and then kept laughing a bit longer.

“Are you two… okay?”

“Do you know, I think we are,” Percy said. “Do you have any of the stuff made up now?”

“We should,” the barmaid said cautiously.

“We’ll take the lot,” Keyleth said.

\--

Back in Whitestone, the roof of the castle that Percy had suggested they climb could not possibly have been a normal roof. Normal roofs didn’t - This one time, after they had polymorphed Trinket and had to talk to him, Keyleth had gone ahead and tried to talk to his fleas too, because fleas could have interesting thoughts! Fleas could have secrets! They could have whole universes in their brains, and no one ever asked, because they were fleas. And also because when Keyleth did ask, it turned out that fleas were probably too dumb to talk. Because they were fleas.

At any rate, when Keyleth polymorphs Trinket, and his skin shifts and wriggles and turns into something different beneath the fleas, that was what the roof was doing now. It kept moving underfoot as they scrambled over the cool stone towards the north parapet, and, inconsiderately, the sky also kept spinning about. It made it very difficult to walk, even as Percy bounded ahead of her.

After the third time the roof nearly threw her off, Keyleth cried out, “Stupid walking!”

Percy responded, “So, don’t walk then.”

“Oh!” Keyleth said. “I forgot that was an option!” and, thinking about fleas, and bears, and twins, and birds, transformed into a white raven.

“Well, I suppose that was predictable,” Percy said, amused. “Come along then.”

Keyleth cawed happily, and flew after him as he picked his way along the parapets. Eventually, they came to the north tower, just above Percy’s workshop.

Percy settled down flat on his back on the tilted portion of the roof, gazing out over the forests, and slapped the tiles next to him.

“Come along, drunky. Pull up some floor, and we’ll recover from our excursion away from the judgemental eyes of the help.”

“Caw?” Keyleth cawed. She hadn’t even thought about that. Did the servants at Whitestone judge them? Could they judge them? She thought they were all judged out after Grog had brought back three hookers that one time.

Percy tilted his head, thinking for a minute. “Do you know, you have a point. I imagine most of the ones inclined to moralizing took their leave after the incident with Grog and the gentle ladies of the Soiled Dove. However, I think drinking our way through Ank’Harel in search of prank liquor isn’t something we should advertise, given our new attempts at responsibility.”

“Caw,” Keyleth said, and alighted next to Percy, in the crook of his neck, just outside of his high collared jacket. The beast-roof cooperated, and settled beneath her as well.

It was a good time of night for rooftops. The stars were beginning to fade into the pink of dawn, and a cool breeze picked up the scent of the pine trees that covered the tops of the Alabaster Sierras, rolling out in the distance. There were clouds in the distance; it was too early to tell whether they would bring a storm, or just some much-needed rain. Keyleth fluffed out her feathers, tickling Percy, who let out a whuff of laughter.

“I always forget how handsy you are when drunk - wingsy? Is there an equivalent for birds?”

“Caw,” Keyleth cawed.

“You’re right, touchy-feely works for both.” They lay there for a while, watching the stars fade. After a while, Percy said, “The twins will be home, soon. Vex thought the initial conferences wouldn’t take more than a week, and Vax wouldn’t take more than a weekend with Syldor before he needed to leave.”

Keyleth cawed “Caw” again.

“Oh dear,” Percy said. “Have you and Vax had a fight? That’s dreadfully appropriative of you, you know. Fights are Vex’s and my territory. You and Vax are quietly and terrifyingly loving and perfect.”

“That’s the problem,” Keyleth sighed turning back into a human, lying upside-down on the roof, and rested her head on Percy’s shoulder. “He's just - I love him, and I wouldn’t give him up for the world, but sometimes it's very difficult to be with someone who thinks you're perfect, you know?”

“Not even a little bit, but keep going.”

Keyleth blew a mature, leader-like raspberry at Percy.

“No! But it is! Because he would never say it, but he has all these - expectations,” Keyleth said. “He looks at me like I hung the moon, and I have no idea what to do with that, because I didn’t. I can’t lead us into a golden age or resurrect the Ashari to their former glory or conquer all evil and death and it's like, I know they don't actually expect me to do that, but then I go out and, you know, talk to them, and. Did you know that little kids just run up and touch my mantle? They do! It’s a dare. They run up, and touch it, and then run away, giggling, like - like I’m not even human! Like they just touched a god, or something. And their parents! The parents are worse. Because they’re old enough that they should know better, and they still look at me like I have answers, and, oh no. I'm not talking about Vax anymore, am I.”

Keyleth could feel Percy’s cheek move against hers as he smiled. Knowing him, it was probably a wry smile. “Not for quite some time, no.” He sighed. “I don’t know that there’s anything you can do about that particular issue. You’re their leader. They look up to you. The only things that can change that are your failure, or their ingratitude, and neither of those seem likely.”

“How can you say that!? I fail all the time. I fail at - at talking to people, and not being thrown out of bars, and being good to Vax and -”

“And you keep trying,” Percy said. “Even when it’s hard, or boring, you keep trying. And that, m’dear, is why you are both a better leader than I am and a better person. It’s become abundantly clear to me over the course of the past week that while I may be more facile than you or Cassandra in speaking, I am considerably worse at being heard.” He reached up awkwardly to pet her hair. “Do you know why the leader of the Merchants’ Guild was so intransigent regarding the signal lights?”

“Because he’s a slimy old man with the eyes of a toad?” Keyleth said. “Unless - No!” She rolled over to look down at Percy, whose face was remarkably sheepish. “Percy! What did you do?”

“I may have suggested,” Percy said, “in regards to a previous matter, that he perform various anatomically improbable acts with a corporeal representation of the past if he loved it so much. Well honestly, Keyleth!” he said over her howls of laughter. “The man wouldn’t know a good idea if it rose up out of his ledgerbook and did a tapdance. He and his… lackeys… wanted to pass up the improvements of decades for the sake of a few months’ inconvenience.”

“Well, what did you expect?” Keyleth asked. “You said it yourself; humans are creatures of systems, of rituals. You cannot change them unless they want to be changed; otherwise, you’re just… destroying them. At least, that’s they way they seem to look at it.” Keyleth lay back down and looked up at the stars. They were almost gone, now. “We have an art, among my people; we call it the toi whakairo. Our shamans work with the winds to carve the cliffs of Zephyra into the sigils that help our tribe defend the plane of air. A single toi whakairo takes a lifetime to carve into the rock; one shaman, working with nothing but air, every day. My father showed them to me, just before I set out on my Aramenté.”

“To show you that leadership is hard work done well every day, I suppose, and that the hearts of men are as hard to change as rock,” Percy said.

“No,” Keyleth said. “He said it was to show me the importance of delegating.”

Now it was Percy’s turn to burst out laughing. “He did not!”

“He did,” Keyleth said, grinning. “You can’t do everything, Percy. In fact, if you know you’re going to lose your temper, you shouldn’t. If you don’t have the patience to carve men slowly, get someone who does to do it for you, and concentrate on what you’re good at. Build machines; let Cassandra build the men.”

“I know. That’s why I lost my temper; I spent all week on… bureaucracy… and never got a chance to look at the drovers’ plans for dredging the canals. They can’t afford the current scheme, but I feel like if we redesign the dredging mechanism -”

“Percy.”

“The issue is depth, you see it’s just -”

“PERCY.”

“What?”

“Ask me the question.”

“What?”

“Ask me the question.”

It was Percy’s turn to flip around to look down at Keyleth. “What question?”

“Keyleth,” Keyleth said, “O member of Vox Machina, how can I dredge canals for cheap?”

“How can I -”

“Keyleth, o member of Vox Machina,” Keyleth prompted.

Percy smiled wryly. “Keyleth, o member of Vox Machina, mistress of the elemental planes and purveyor of wisdom beyond her years, how can I dredge my canals without bankrupting my drovers or draining my treasury?”

“You can put your friendly neighborhood earth mover up for a few days while she does it, and promise that we won’t have to invent a meaningless quest to go on our next pub crawl.” Keyleth smiled up at Percy, then flipped around to sit next to him. The stars were gone, now; the sky was covered in a cool pink and orange light.

“Would you look at that,” Percy said, softly. “We stayed up to watch the sunrise.”

Percy and Keyleth sat together, watching the dawn break over the forests, until the clamor of Whitestone called them down to work.

**Author's Note:**

> Author’s Notes:
> 
> The title of this fic is taken from the Philosopher's Song, by Monty Python, which has little to do with the actual content of this fic but which I found amusing. Working titles included Dude, Where’s My Carpet?, Percy and Kiki Go To Whitestone Castle, and the simple, yet elegant, SCHWASTED FIC. However, it didn’t actually gel until I realized that Keyleth’s worst nightmare is celebrity culture, while Percy’s is institutional inertia.
> 
> I shamelessly ripped off the concept of toi whakairo and sacred carvings from Maori culture, which Marisha has cited a few times as the inspiration for some of the Ashari’s practices. As far as I know, Maori do not carve with wind, but nature sure does.
> 
> You could technically make bitters from spent grain, but I don’t think you would want to. Just use the spent grain to make crackers and make your own bitters from orange peel, cardamom, and coriander instead.
> 
> The bitter cracker batter tongue twister is an homage to [this amazing poem on tumblr.](http://facts-i-just-made-up.tumblr.com/post/86186032503/i-spent-like-15-hours-on-this)
> 
> The music is "Cocktails for Two" by Spike Jones.
> 
> This fic is Biene’s; I just wrote it.


End file.
